


Ever After

by iexisttolive



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Gen, Healing, Politics, Post - Deathly Hallows, Post-War, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iexisttolive/pseuds/iexisttolive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over and Lavender is alone. Left to her thoughts and to the full moon, she lives life day by day until someone unexpected comes to her door. Oneshot written for The Particular Pairing Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever After

She had been beautiful once, before the war. She had known it, too. From pureblood stock, Lavender Brown had had it all. She had been a beautiful girl, well versed in all of the skills a lady should know, and well connected in social circles as well. Her mother and father had expected good things from her, and she had not disappointed them.

Sorted into Gryffindor with her friend Parvati Patil, she had done decently well in her classes, being in the top five in her year in both Divination and Astronomy. Her parents had been in the midst of negotiations with House Macmillan before the war had begun. _(A fortuitous match, my darling. The Macmillans are the right sort. Their heir is such a handsome boy, I’m sure you’ll get along.)_

That was before fifth year and Professor Umbridge’s reign of terror. Before Lavender had joined Dumbledore’s Army and made friends of all sorts. Before the death of the Headmaster, and the break-in of Death Eaters to the place hundreds of children considered their home.

Her parents had considered pulling her out of Hogwarts, but by that time it was too late – she was on the train and attendance was mandatory. She was speaking up in class alongside Neville Longbottom, challenging the Carrows when torture became the stuff of lessons rather than nightmares. She was soaking her limbs in essence of murtlap, hoping that the burning sensation in her body would subside. She was watching as more of her classmates disappeared one by one, not knowing if they were escaping by way of contacts or by death.

Finding out about the room of requirement’s hidden dormitory had been both a relief and a burden. Often in her hammock in the dark, she would remember how Umbridge had been able to find them during fifth year and wonder if it wasn’t just some sick joke that they were left alone. She had seen the others, some of them determined to fight back, others simply huddled hollow-eyed in their hammocks, as if wishing for an end would make it so.

Then Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts, and with him came the final battle. She had fought as hard as anyone, grateful for her training in Dumbledore’s Army and angry that it was necessary at all. She fought, and lamented the need to kill. When white-hot rage enveloped her at the sight of Colin Creevy’s fall, she did not hesitate in her killing blow, or at any time after that.

She had been felled soon after, and left to the not-so-tender mercies of Fenrir Greyback, who had ravaged her neck and shoulders very badly, and caught her face with a bite as well. She knew that she owed her life to the person who had removed him from her, but there were days when she wished they had let her die.

It had been almost two years to the day since the Battle of Hogwarts, as they were calling it, and happiness seemed to be a thing of the past for her. She had been blessed in life, but now she had truly been cursed. Lycanthropy was a horrific disease. Every month she cool feel her bones and organs stretching out of shape and realigning, her skin tightening and expanding to fit her new frame. But she could also feel the were inside her head. It was not a wolf. The were wanted nothing to do with pack, or with running. The were wanted only the hunt, the kill.

Her first transformation had given her nightmares until her next, and after that the cycle of sleeplessness had just become routine for her. The first couple of months after the battle, she was kept in a St Mungo’s Ward, where she slipped in and out of consciousness so frequently that she never wondered at her lack of visitors. When it was time to be discharged, the ward nurse had given her an envelope addressed to her.

It was from her father. He didn’t fault her for what had happened, but he could not allow the Brown name to be sullied by a werewolf. The envelope contained a bank draft for enough galleons for about a month of careful living, but other than that she was on her own. She was cast out, and was not to use the Brown name in any capacity, official or otherwise. She later learned secondhand that Parvati had died in the battle, and her heart had rested uncomfortably in her throat ever since.

So that was that. She was alone in the world, and she didn’t know what to make of herself.

 

 

 

It had been almost two years to the day since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Lavender had changed. No longer the vivacious girl she had been in her school days, she shied away from human contact. Taking up quasi-permanence in the muggle world, she had struggled these last years to adjust to electricity and paying rent. She had soon learned to look in the right places, because finding work in the muggle world without their papers was difficult, but not impossible. She searched the seediest parts of London for employers that were short-staffed often enough to pay cash and ask no questions.

She was not even twenty yet and most days she felt painfully old, numbed to her very core. Her spirit was broken, and it was not aided by the task she had to accomplish today. Although the ushering in of Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister of Magic was said to have heralded in a new age for Wizard-kind, the creatures and magical beings of the world did not have to delve deeper to find that it simply wasn’t true.

Legislations and Bills had been passed, mostly in silence at first, that took away the few rights non- and quasi- humans had in the British Wizarding World. Lavender could attest to this, for although she had been living solely in the Muggle world for just over a year, she still received a summons that could not be ignored lest she be inviolate of the new law.

The Werewolf Registration Act. A public record of all werewolves currently residing in the British Isles, it would be accessible to anyone who cared to look. Though protests had been made, they had been rather feeble. The short reign of Fenrir Greyback and his ilk was imprinted on the minds of those who had seem the devastation they had caused in the war. Most werewolves simply decided it would be better for them to leave Britain than face a lifetime of discrimination even more brutal than what they already went through.

It was true that Lavender found the idea of some vigilante looking up her address a frightening prospect, but she also knew that most wizards were hopeless when it came to the muggle world. The idea of a wizard actually finding her in the run-down three floor walk up she currently lived-in was laughable. The mail wards she had set preventing all but Ministry and Gringotts owls would see to it that no one could track her that way either.

Still, as she descended the elevator in the Ministry after adding her name to the Registry, she couldn’t help the pain she felt as the angry mob in the Atrium came into view. She had been able to hear their shouts as soon as she had gotten into the elevator, although now their voices were clearer. She would have to walk through them to reach the designated apparition points.

Their faces were distorted in fury, spittle flying as they shouted, fist punching the air for emphasis. _(Registration is not enough! Round them up! Murderers! Child-killers!)_ The ministry workers that had been assigned to watch the mob had obviously gotten the short straw, if their disgruntled expressions were anything to go by. Lavender wasn’t all too faithful in their ability or willingness to protect her should the mob attack her.

There was no way of avoiding it. Glamours wouldn’t cover the bite on her face, and it would be obvious at first glance what it was. She usually played it down with muggle make-up, but to wizards the mark would be unmistakable. As she approached the mob, it seemed to turn towards her, a living, seething, being. The ministry workers parted them, both with hands and spells, leaving her a path to walk through. Determinedly, she stepped through it, doing her best not to look at the faces contorted in anger. It wasn’t until she was clear of the mob that she risked a glance backwards.

The image burned into her mind – a little girl, no more than seven years old, anger making her cherub’s face into a dark thing, eyes dark with hate. _(Who let the dogs out? Woof!Woof!Woof! The dogs should be locked in cages where they belong!)_

With that final look, Lavender resolved that she was well and truly done with the Wizarding world. As she reached the apparition point and appeared in her small flat, the emotions of the day took their toll. She collapsed in the ratty armchair beside the tiny window and cried until she thought she would burst.

 

 

 

When Lavender heard the knock at the door she flung it open carelessly, expecting to see her landlady or her young son, come to fix the leaky kitchen sink. Instead she was greeted by the sight of a young woman in a bright, pattered dress and tights. Her blonde hair was long, reaching the small of her back, and appeared to be held back with long grey feathers. But it was the sight of the protuberant silvery grey eyes, so reminiscent of Ollivander’s, that jogged her memory. Luna Lovegood was at her door.

“Well hello,” Luna said, seemingly unperturbed by Lavender’s stunned silence. “I thought I would pop by and see how you were doing. May I come in?”

With that, she breezed past Lavender into the flat, and settled herself on the footstool near the armchair, there being no place else to sit. Lavender had never really known Luna outside of D.A. meetings, and the short time Luna had spent in the Room of Requirement before she had been kidnapped. They were in different years, different houses, and different social circles.

Yet here she was, sitting and looking expectantly at Lavender, who moved to sit in the armchair opposite Luna. After a moment of looking at her confusedly, she found her voice.

“What… are you doing here?”

“I found your name in the Registry. I thought you might want some company,” Luna said easily, as it that explained everything.

And maybe it did.

Lavender hadn’t known Luna very well, that was true, but she knew that the distinct air of dottiness that had surrounded the girl in school seemed to have alleviated. While it was true that her clothing was still unique, her silvery eyes were clear rather than dreamy, her gaze direct.

“Two years is a long time to be lonely. I thought the company would be nice.”

“Did you?” Lavender smiled bitterly, remember the days she went without speaking in the beginning, having no need.

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

It was later that Lavender looked back on that day and wondered if Luna hadn’t come sooner because she herself couldn’t bear the thought of another person intruding upon her life. She had changed, her periods of dreaminess becoming short staring sessions that turned her face into a blank mask, features stilling.

She had stayed for a short time with Ollivander, helping the elderly man to regain his footing in the world of wandmaking simply by being a constant, uplifting presence. She still held a love of strange creatures, seeming to find solace in their wild and unexplored lives, no longer driven to find and catalogue their existence.

She had changed.

When Luna had become a permanent fixture in the flat, they lived seamlessly around each other. Lavender said nothing of the strings of feathers and beads she found hung above every door, and Luna said nothing of Lavender’s habit of stomping around in large black boots to relieve stress.

It was a surprise one morning when Lavender awoke, Luna’s long, beautiful hair spilling out over her, and realized that she had been there for a year. It had been a year of learning to smile and laugh again, of experimental cooking, and dancing together in the living room. A year of soft hands and softer eyes, of kisses and fluttering eyelashes. A year of not having to hide her raggedness around full moons, and finally not needing the money to buy Wolfsbane, because Luna could brew it.

They had learned so much about each other in such a short time, and Lavender sometimes wondered what Parvati would say if she could see her now. Lavender had grown up, learning to take care of herself and of someone else. She had learned that holding someone close was sometimes the only thing you could do for them when they woke screaming in the night, or even when they lost sight of the world during the day. Luna had taught her that not all scars were visible, and even those that were could be misleading.

She and Luna had been broken and scarred in ways that few people could ever imagine. The loss of family and friends was replaced with whispered words in the night, and the ghosting of hands over limbs. It was not the fairy tale life that Lavender had imagined having as a child, but when you turned into the big bad wolf, you seized all the happiness you could and kept it safely guarded. She had Luna now. It was enough.


End file.
